Dismantle, Repair
by sweetdetection
Summary: UPDATED! A young boy's body is fuond dismembered, bringing together the whole team. As they race to put together the clues, some relationships are threatened while others blossom, and Adam's abusive past comes to light. Full summary and pairings inside
1. Chapter 1

**SUMMARY: **The murder and dismemberment of a young boy strikes a chord in each member of Mac's team. As they race to put together the clues, high tensions soon threaten the careful relationships the team have built -- and causes others to blossom. For each member of the team, the murder means something significant: for Mac, it becomes about avenging an innocent. Stella turns it into a fight for every lost boy. Danny cannot help but see Ruben in this new body, and Lindsay must finally confront him about his grief, Rikki, and where they are left in its wake. Hawkes must face terrible flashbacks to the young patient he lost on his operating table. And for Flack, it comes down to making the City safe to grow up in, like he did. But for Adam, the case is much different. As he uncovers the evidence to help the CSIs move forward, he begins to come apart at the seams as his own abusive past comes fully to light.

**SPOILERS: **Series through episode 4.15, "DOA for a Day." It will hopefully stay fairly current with the remainder of season 4, but you never know. Zuiker has thrown me some curve balls before.

**PAIRINGS:** Mac/Stella, Danny/Lindsay, Hawkes/OC, Flack/Angell, Adam/Kendell/OC

**NOTES:** The title of this story comes from the song, "Dismantle.Repair" by _Anberlin_, which is on their album "Cities."

**DEDICATION: **To Michele and Anna, who are stuck on the short bus I'm driving to hell. You are the best friends a girl could have. Honestly.

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DISMANTLE.REPAIR

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Chapter.One

The building had been slated for demolition, and so Detective Mac Taylor hauled his forensics kit up six flights of stairs, ignoring the dead elevator. It was early -- perhaps three or three thirty in the morning -- and nearing the end of his shift. Behind him, he could hear the even breathing and steady step of Dr. Sheldon Hawkes, and he managed a wan smile. He wasn't a young marine anymore, and at three in the morning, he had no business climbing up so many damn stairs. But the doctor, younger and in peak physical condition, didn't seem to have any trouble. Minutely jealous, he let his jarhead pride propel him up the last flight of stairs without pausing for a rest. And at the top of the stairs was Detective Don Flack, looking grim.

"Detective Flack," Mac said.

"Mac." The tall detective nodded. "Dr. Hawkes." He turned to lead the way down the hall and into an empty apartment. As he led them, he gave them the basic facts he'd managed to collect before the CSIs had arrived. "The victim's a kid, can't be more than ten or eleven. The body has been mutilated."

"Mutilated?" Hawkes repeated, echoing the shock Mac felt reverberating through his system.

Flack nodded. "Dismembered, more like, at major joints." He shoved open the door to the apartment and nodded them in. "All the uniforms are keeping a distance. Probably the best-preserved crime scene you've ever been called to, Mac. Nobody wants to get too close." Mac could hear the outrage in the younger man's voice as his eyes dropped to the small body. Flack was right, it was in pieces -- hands, forearms, upper arms, feet, calves, thighs, lower abdomen. The head was still attached to the neck and torso, but the rest of the boy had been taken apart, and there was a long, clean slit across the abdomen. Hawkes stepped forward to take a better look while Mac turned his eyes to the room, privately disgusted.

"Room's pretty clean," he said, not wanting to fuel Flack's obvious rage at the youth and helplessness of their victim. He made a full sweep of the room, but the only furniture was the stainless steel table that the body had been spread out on. Flack nodded.

"The place has been abandoned for a couple weeks. Everything's been cleared out. It was supposed to be torn down three days ago, but the weather didn't permit. It got rescheduled for Tuesday, when the forecast clears up."

"What can you tell me about the cuts, Sheldon?" Mac asked, turning his attention back to the body.

"They're clean. Made by someone with a steady hand. But it's not surgically precise. My best guess is that it was someone with very basic knowledge about the human body."

"So not necessarily an expert or a doctor?"

Hawkes shook his head. "Nope. Probably anybody with a decent amount of upper body strength and an anatomy textbook."

Flack sighed. He didn't look as though this was particularly good news.

"That's not all. The last couple of cuts were very sloppy -- a rush job. Our killer must have sensed their time was running out or that they'd be discovered. You can see where the hand slipped, where the cuts get jagged."

"Guy's probably long gone by now," Flack said. Mac ignored that statement, looking down at the pale face of the young boy. He had been a handsome kid -- tousled, mahogany-colored hair, high cheekbones and the beginnings of a firm jaw. Somehow, the boy's angelic features made the murder seem even more heinous.

"Who called it in?" he asked, and Flack flipped open his notebook.

"Uniformed officer doing his rounds. Name's Pete Griswold. He's back on his beat, but I put in a call to his supervisor and he's available for questioning at your convenience."

Mac nodded and opened his kit. As he knelt to get a better look at the body, Hawkes made a noise. He'd crouched down to get a better look at the surgical table and had come across a trashcan. Abandoning his flashlight, the doctor carefully reached into the trashcan and stood. Cradled in his palms was an internal organ, and with a small noise, Flack recoiled. He wasn't normally squeamish, but it wasn't often he came across organs in trashcans, either.

"It's a pancreas," Hawkes said. He lifted it closer to his face, examining it very closely. He paused and shook his head. "A CT scan would confirm it, but it looks to me like our vic here was suffering from pancreatic cancer."

"So our killer cut the pancreas out?" Mac frowned as Hawkes nodded. The room grew silent. There was obvious significance to the act, and it clarified one point in specific: this murder was personal.

--

Danny Messer had been in better moods. With his girlfriend seated across from him -- notably silent -- in the break room, he felt the unspoken words between them and it caused his hackles to raise. Okay, so he'd missed her birthday. It was an asshole move. But he'd apologized -- what was she still upset about? He couldn't turn back time, although she'd made things so unbearable that he cheerfully would if it were possible. He had to remember not to sigh.

Lindsay hadn't really addressed the subject of Ruben's death. In all fairness, Danny hadn't really wanted to talk about it, either. But her attempts to get his mind off of it had been failures. He'd known that she was just trying to cheer him up, and he hadn't been as grateful as maybe he should have. And then he'd forgotten her birthday. All in all, his RBI wasn't so good, and he supposed he could understand why she was angry.

But he didn't know what to do about it. That was the crux of it, really. They cared for each other, but while Danny's passions ran hot thanks to his Italian heritage, Lindsay approached things in a more logical, practical manner. So while Danny reacted to changes immediately, Lindsay took a step back and considered every possible angle. It was like that in both their personal and professional relationships, and since those relationships were tied so closely, he found himself at a roadblock. He didn't know what to say or do to make it better, and Lindsay wasn't giving him any clues.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then he simply stood and walked over to the fridge, where there was water. Lindsay made no comment. She didn't even move. A gnat might have incited a better response. Glowering, Danny returned to his seat and twisted off the cap to the water bottle. It was going to be a long shift if she kept acting this way. The silence stretched until he felt like he was going to snap, and then Mac appeared.

"My office, now," he said, and Danny was scrambling to his feet before the last syllable. Something big was going on. He shot a look Lindsay's way, but she only shrugged. She had no idea what was going on, either. They followed their boss toward his spacious glass office, and Danny frowned as they entered. Mac handed Danny a case file. Danny opened it, and then jerked his head back. Still grieving for Ruben, he hadn't been prepared to face the crime scene photographs of the young, dismembered boy. Reluctantly, Danny passed them over to Lindsay, wishing no one else had to see them.

"Flack called me to the scene early this morning. I'm putting everyone on this one, due the to extreme psychopathic nature of the dismemberment. We're still working on an ID. Danny, I'm sending you and Lindsay back to the scene," Mac said. Danny nodded, trying to shake away the after image that seemed to be burned onto his retina. He gently touched Lindsay's arm, seeing her face contort as she looked at the body, spread in pieces over the operating table.

"You got it, boss."

"And check with Adam about the tox results before you go. He should have collected a sample from Sid and had it run through DNA."

Danny nodded and took the file from Lindsay. Together, they made their way back out of the office, depositing the file on the way. They didn't speak, but this time that didn't bother Danny so much. His thoughts were already consumed with the case, and with the boy who had life cut so brutally short. He couldn't guess at Lindsay's thoughts, but he did recognize the determination and knew he was off the hook -- for now.

Lindsay led the way into the Trace Lab, where three technicians had gathered, going over the results from the tox report. She recognized two of them -- Adam Ross and Kendall Novak -- but the third was unfamiliar to her. She realized it must be the new girl in DNA.

Adam saw her first. "Lindsay," he said, and the other two techs looked up as well. "And Danny."

"Hey, Adam." Danny propped a hip against the table, glancing at the report in Adam's hands. "What've you got?"

"Tox report on our vic came back with high levels of sodium pentobarbital in the blood." Danny lifted an eyebrow and glanced at Lindsay, and then the new girl spoke up.

"Mostly, it's used in veterinary medicine. It's an anesthetic, and it has hypnotic properties as well. Actually, it's got a lot of practical applications. However, you might get lucky, because it's closely regulated and distributed by the federal government, especially after the string of physician-aided suicides in Oregon. So if you can track down a list of people in the area who have access to it, you might find a suspect."

Danny smiled a little. That was the first good news he'd heard about the case. "Nice. Who're you?"

She smiled back. "Aspen Murray."

"Thanks," he said, and then turned back to Adam. "Think you can get a list of people with access to this stuff for me?"

"I'll call you as soon as it's compiled," Adam replied. He'd already turned to a computer. But Danny noticed he was a little green around the gills. He decided against asking about it with so many people around -- but it wasn't often that Adam was disturbed by their work. It was definitely something to follow up on.

"While he's working on that, I've been leafing through missing persons reports in the area. I haven't come up with much yet, but I sent out the dental records and hopefully we'll get an ID from that. In the meantime, the closest I've come so far is this kid, Jimmy Hamilton. He was reported missing by his father, Lee Hamilton, yesterday afternoon, around three o'clock. The dental records should confirm it. This is Lee's address. And one more thing…" Kendall met Lindsay's gaze head-on as she passed over the missing persons report and the address. "Lee Hamilton is a veterinarian. He's got offices downtown."

"Great. We'll swing by on our way back from the crime scene" Lindsay said, sounding a bit more optimistic than she had all day. Danny was glad to hear it.

"Don't bother. Mac'll probably send Hawkes. And I'll check Lee's supply records, look for any orders of sodium pentobarbital," Adam said.

Danny nodded and looked over at Lindsay. She caught his gaze and nodded to him. "Let's head out. Thanks, you guys. Adam…beer after work?"

Adam blinked, surprised by the invitation. Then he nodded slowly, as if he were expecting some kind of trick or prank. "Sure. I'll give you a call."

"Good. Lindsay, let's make our way to the crime scene."

--

Stella Bonasera wanted to reach out to her boss. She had never hesitated in the past…but there was something different today. They'd been through many things together, and if anyone knew when it would be permitted to cross the line with Mac Taylor, it was Stella. Through spectacular fights and heartbreaking cases, it was Stella that Mac had oft turned to for comfort or strength. But things had changed lately. Since his relationship with Peyton had began and then so abruptly ended, Mac had turned to his long-time partner less and less. And it had gotten to the point where even when Stella could see him in his office, alone and clearly bothered, she couldn't bring herself to go in.

Maybe she was just being silly. So many years together meant that their core of trust was still solid. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't wanted at times like these anymore, and she mourned the loss.

She passed his office altogether, knowing that to go in now, with her emotions tangled, would be a mistake. Instead, she headed toward her own office, where she had a copy of the toxicology reports waiting to be reviewed. And as she walked, Kendall Novak fell into step beside her.

"Stella," the woman said, and as always, Stella marveled at the other's simple and elegant beauty.

"Kendall," she replied with warmth.

"I've got a tentative ID on our vic. I passed the word on to Mac, but I thought I'd tell you as well. I'm just waiting on the dental records to confirm." Kendall passed over a copy of the missing persons report she'd shown Danny and Lindsay.

"Jimmy Hamilton." Stella nodded. "Good work. This should give us a solid starting point."

"Thanks." Kendall's smile was grateful. Then it faded slowly, and Stella realized she was about to be asked a personal question. She shook her head a little. She enjoyed being the person everyone else came to with problems, but on a day like today, it was easy to feel overwhelmed.

"Stella…I had a…I just wanted to know what your opinion on relationships in the workplace," the other managed. Stella smiled. She probably should have seen this one coming. True, no one had reprimanded Danny and Lindsay for theirs, but even Danny had managed to be discreet. So far, it hadn't been something to be concerned about. Stella wasn't particularly comfortable with the idea of two people on the same team becoming romantically involved, but she recognized the irony -- she didn't always want to follow her own good advice.

"I would proceed with caution. Relationships in the workplace happen, that's normal. But they have a tendency to get messy, and if it causes issues with the quality of the work, well…_that_ is something that Mac doesn't tolerate. But I'm sure you could handle it." Stella paused. "Where's this coming from, Kendall?"

The blonde woman didn't answer. She shifted gears instead, and for the first time, Stella realized that there were self-confidence issues lying under Kendall's beautiful, controlled surface. "What do you think about Aspen?"

Stella frowned. She hadn't had much face time with the new tech, and with her mind wrapped up in the Hamilton case, she wasn't sure she had an answer.

"She seems capable," she said after a pause.

Kendall nodded, and just as quickly came back to the business at hand. Stella was both relieved and intrigued by the swap. She was glad that Kendall was comfortable enough to come to her supervisor, and yet still seemed determined to handle her insecurities on her own. She touched the other woman's shoulder, and they smiled at each other.

"I'll page you as soon as I get that confirmation." Kendall started to say more, but Adam appeared, jogging down the hall of the lab with a sheaf of papers in his hands.

"Hey guys. Stell -- I was putting together a list of people who have access to sodium pentobarbital, and while I was at it, I checked up on Lee Hamilton's last shipment. It came in last week, and Lee Hamilton signed for a full case of the stuff. But then one of his aids reported four doses missing, the next morning completely unaccounted for." Adam reported.

Stella opened her mouth. He cut her off.

"I already checked with Sid. That's enough to be a lethal dosage. And with the amount found in the boy's blood…"

"Good work, Adam. Kendall, we'll talk later?" At the other woman's nod, Stella pulled out her cell phone and hit Flack's speed dial while the techs headed off to spread the word. It was time to visit Dr. Hamilton.

--

Don Flack didn't work with partners often. Oh, he'd worked on teams before, and he'd had a mentor, just like every other cop in the department. But he had quietly avoided a partner for a while, preferring to operate on his own. Still, there was a comforting aspect to knowing someone was watching your back. And the view of the back he was watching, he had to admit, wasn't so bad. But he really, _really_ didn't want this particular partner on this particular case. It wasn't that Detective Jessica Angell couldn't handle it. It was that he didn't want her to have to. He hadn't even wanted her to see the crime scene photographs. But Mac had requested that everyone be in on this one, and he hadn't been able to stop her.

She'd been pale all morning since he'd passed her the file. And, knowing she probably wouldn't appreciate his concern, Flack had tried to get their minds off of it, with very limited success. They pulled up to the veterinary offices of Dr. Lee Hamilton in silence, and Flack had to rally himself to get out of the car. As he did so, both their cell phones went off. Angell shot him a look as he checked the text message from the Crime Labs.

"Dental records confirmed. Our victim is James Hamilton," Flack said. She nodded and straightened her shoulders, preparing to go inside and face their prime suspect. Flack just made sure his gun was loose in its holster. Chances were slim that he'd actually need it, and with Chief Inspector Gerard on a sustained warpath, he really _hoped_ he wouldn't need it. But he'd been a boy scout growing up, and he believed in always being prepared.

Together, they walked into the vet. Angell headed straight for the reception desk, and she flashed her badge at the young woman behind the counter.

"We're here to see Dr. Lee Hamilton about the Missing Persons he reported," she said. Flack hung back, keeping an eye on the situation and the exits.

"Sure." She paged the doctor. A few moments later, and he appeared. Flack gave him a once-over. Middle-aged, going bald and a little soft around the edges. Unremarkable features. He looked like every other vet or doctor or dentist there had ever been.

"I'm Dr. Hamilton, can I help you?" he asked, looking nervous. That satisfied Flack a little. He did enjoy making people nervous. One of the perks of the job.

"Yeah, we think so. I'm Detective Flack, this is Detective Angell. We're here about the Missing Persons report you filed for your son, Jimmy."

Lee Hamilton paled. "You -- you found him?"

"Yes," Angell replied. "Dr. Hamilton, he's been murdered."

Then Lee Hamilton made the mistake most criminals do. He ran. And, cursing his luck for wearing his nice shoes today, Flack gave chase. This was not generally part of the job he enjoyed. But having Angell there to help herd the good doctor into a dead end did make it easier. They chased him down the hall and Flack flung himself at the man's ankles as he headed for the emergency fire exit. They both fell in a rather painful heap, but it was effective. By the time Hamilton had regained his footing, Angell was standing in front of the fire escape, gun drawn. Flack shot her a winning smile as he pulled out his cuffs.

"Nice moves," he said.

In spite of herself, Angell smiled back. "I _do _have brothers, you know."

Flack slapped the cuffs onto Lee's wrists and led him back toward their car while Angell holstered her weapon. He shook his head as Lee, silent and looking hopeless, climbed into the Department's SUV.

"Congratulations, doc. You just became our prime suspect," he said, and slammed the door shut after him.


	2. Chapter 2

**SPOILERS: **Series through episode 4.15, "DOA for a Day."

**NOTES:** The title of this story comes from the song, "Dismantle.Repair" by _Anberlin_, which is on their album "Cities."

**THANK YOUS:** To **LaUrIsHa-justme**, **iluvcsi4ever**, **Justicerocks**, **lilymoonlight**, **BlueShadowdancer**, **ImaSupernaturalCSI**, **shadoo**, and **HollywoodFAN**, as well as to all the people who added either myself or this story to their alerts or favorites lists. I really appreciate all the feedback and support. It's a lot of fun to read your thoughts on this story, and it's a real pleasure to see people responding so positively. Thank you again!

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DISMANTLE.REPAIR

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Chapter.Two

Doctor Sheldon Hawkes took a moment in the car. Then, feeling as braced as he was likely to get, he climbed out of the SUV and headed into the lobby of the apartment building that the Hamilton family lived in. He'd spoken to Jimmy's mother on the phone, but he didn't know what to expect. He knew she was a suspect by association, but he also had to be prepared for a grieving mother. His career had made him familiar with grief in all its stages, but the mothers were always the hardest, and he wasn't looking forward to this. He entered the elevator after speaking with the receptionist, and as it rose up eight floors, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he never should have left the morgue.

But that was defeatist thinking, and Sheldon knew that it wouldn't serve him. He hadn't gotten to this point in his life, or his career, by thinking that way. So when he knocked on the Hamilton's door, he was composed and calm.

"Dr. Hawkes?" Jessamyn Hamilton stood in the doorway, and she looked as though the world had been ripped out from beneath her feet. A wave of sympathy crashed over Sheldon as he looked at her, and he followed her inside with heavy limbs.

"Mrs. Hamilton. I'm sorry to be here, under the circumstances."

She nodded, and motioned for him to take a seat. On the coffee table was a pitcher of iced tea and a glass. He found it an odd touch, but then, the task of preparing for a guest -- even an unwanted one -- had probably helped her take her mind off of Jimmy for a few moments. He poured himself a glass and sipped to be polite. Then he took out a small notebook and a pen.

"I'll try and make this quick," he told her.

"Just tell me what to do to help you catch whoever…" She choked off and looked away. Sheldon looked down at his paper, and to give her a moment of privacy, he jotted down the date and approximate time.

"Your husband filed the Missing Persons report?"

"Yes. When Jimmy didn't come home after school. We called around to all his friends, and we canvassed the area with some of the other moms. But when it got dark, we called the police."

Sheldon nodded. He'd already confirmed that timeline. "And that was about a day before he was discovered?"

She nodded.

"Do you know of anyone that might have wanted to hurt Jimmy? Or any possible enemies?"

She shook her head, looking completely thrown by the possibility.

"Your husband has veterinary offices downtown, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you are an interior designer?"

She nodded again. "It's more of a hobby. Lee's got a very loyal clientele, and we do pretty well."

"You just had a baby?"

"Yes. Sarah. She's asleep in the next room."

Sheldon cleared his throat and proceeded with delicacy. "Mrs. Hamilton. When was Jimmy diagnosed with pancreatic cancer?"

"About three months ago," she said. Her voice cracked. "I…It's very hard. He was…He was perfect. And then…"

"It's very rare that someone so young develops that type of cancer," he said.

"That's what the doctor said. He told us that Jimmy had to have been susceptible from birth. He tried to explain…something to do with genetics and mutated DNA markers."

Sheldon nodded again. He'd done his homework, refreshing his medical training on that particularly deadly strain of cancer. Someone in his family, probably a grandparent or perhaps Lee or Jessamyn Hamilton themselves, had passed on the mutated genes that would put Jimmy at high risk of developing the malignant cells in his pancreas. And so far, there was very little the medical community could do to fight that cancer. Very little they could do, even, to combat the extreme pain that was associated with it. He felt a weight on his shoulders, threatening to crush him into the couch he was sitting on, and realized it was a sort of guilt. He'd experienced it before, during his own brief surgical career. He'd never come to terms with the fact that he couldn't cure everyone. It had driven him into the morgue. And still, that guilt remained.

"How was Jimmy dealing with his cancer?"

"He was a kid." Jessamyn's smile was ghastly. "He couldn't understand what it meant, or how bad it was. He just kept doing what he was doing. But then it started to hurt him and…"

She couldn't continue. Sheldon resisted the urge to touch her. It was difficult.

"I'm sorry. I really am," he said, and he meant it. She nodded and seemed to take comfort in that. Not much, but a little.

"He was my baby boy. My perfect baby boy," she said. Sheldon tried to continue the questioning, but Jessamyn seemed too overwhelmed to continue. He stood, knowing he'd have to come back and rehash this all over again. He didn't like the idea of dragging her over the coals again, but he had more questions that needed answers. He took out a card and, though he hadn't forgotten Flack's dressing down the _last_ time he'd passed it to a grieving mother, handed it to Jassamyn.

"We're making arrangements for your husband to identify the body. In the meantime, if you have any questions or any information, please don't hesitate to call me."

She took the card and nodded, too emotional to speak. Sheldon let himself out and headed back to the car. He was no closer to a lead, but he'd felt like he was suffocating in there, and Jessamyn didn't appear to have any idea who might have wanted to hurt her son. Feeling defeated, he climbed back into his car and started the drive back to the labs. He just hoped the others were having better luck.

--

Adam Ross had closed himself into the Trace lab. He had five cases, three of them rush, top priority being the Hamilton case, and all he wanted to do was go home. And be sick. And maybe come back to work after Mac had solved this one without him. But he couldn't do that. So he processed the sheet that had been on the surgical table that Jimmy Hamilton's body had been discovered on. And when that came up a big bust, other than a few cotton fibers that could have come from _anywhere_, he left the Trace lab and headed the A/V lab. He felt more at home there, anyway, and he checked on the demolition schedule for the building again. It had been public record for a while, anyone could have looked up the fact that the building was abandoned and about to be torn down. It was the perfect place to commit murder. Only Adam couldn't wrap his head around one thing. Obviously, the building's demolition had been intended to cover up the murder. But the killer had waited until _after_ the demolition had been cancelled to use the space. And he'd brought the kid there a full four days before the next scheduled demolition date, increasing his risk of being caught.

Why?

The only thing he could come up with was that the killer had needed time. He wasn't just dumping the body. But why did he need the time?

He was really beginning to hate all the whys. He was the guy people went to for answers, and he really hated not being able to give them. Luckily, Mac was out of the office. He'd headed over to the precinct to keep tabs on Lee Hamilton's interrogation. He wouldn't have to tell his boss that he was a useless blob until he got back.

"Dammit." He sat back in his chair. And though he truly, truly didn't want to, he reached for the case file he'd brought with him to A/V and flipped it open to the pictures. Something bothered him about the methodical dismemberment. It was careful. It wasn't expertly done, but it was careful. Almost as if…

Almost as if…

Bile rose in his throat. _Almost as if the killer intended to put all the pieces back together._

Even as he finished the thought, the significance of it struck him. Pulling up the internet, Adam ran a quick Google search. And as he looked over the images the search had spit back at him, he felt more and more confident that he'd been correct. After all, it would explain why the killer needed more time and the care that had been taken with the body.

A knock pulled him out of his concentration, and he jerked his head up to see who was interrupting him. Then he relaxed. It was Aspen, from DNA.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," she said. She walked over to him and handed him a report. "Mac's not here, but I thought you'd want to see the results from Lee Hamilton's DNA profile. Just in case it helped with something you were working on." Her eyes flicked to the screen.

"He doesn't have the genetic mutations that would put him at risk for cancer," Adam murmured as he glanced over the report.

"No. But that doesn't mean much. The mutations could have come from anywhere in the family tree."

"Still…" Adam chomped down on a pen. "That means the bad genes are probably from mom's side, then."

"What're you looking at here?" she asked, drawing his attention back to the computer. He fidgeted. He'd meant to tell Mac first, but Mac wasn't here, and anyway, it never hurt to get a second opinion.

"Japanese ball-joint dolls," he told her. "I…the crime scene photos…"

Aspen shot a look his way. He felt her dark eyes assessing him and wondered just what she saw. She looked a little like a doll herself, delicate. Especially in a lab coat. He fumbled and felt frustrated for doing so. Both she and Kendall made him feel like a klutzy dope, even when he knew there were plenty of other, more important things to worry about.

"The way he was…It just reminded me of the way you take apart the ball-joint dolls. They're very delicate, you see, so you have to be really careful. And they're put together a lot like our bodies…because the string in the joints, those are like our muscles and tendons, and the actual ball joints act like _our _joints, allowing movement. And it looked to me like…"

He was rambling and he cut himself off with a shrug. He didn't want to voice the possibility that someone might have wanted to put Jimmy's body back together, like a miniature Frankenstein. It seemed completely unsanctified. Almost evil.

Aspen seemed to understand. Her eyes softened and she nodded. "I think you're on to something. Mac'll be pleased."

He gave her a tired smile. "Thanks."

She looked at him for a moment longer, and he squirmed under the scrutiny. She could see that the case bother him, obviously, but she wouldn't be able to guess how much. No one would, really, except maybe Mac. And he didn't really want to enlighten her or anyone else, either.

"Well. If you need anything, let me know. Jane's out, but I'm getting to know my way around DNA pretty good. And good luck," she said. He nodded and stood, and she left without saying much else. He watched her go and then shoved the pen back in his mouth. He didn't look back at the ball-joint dolls still on the computer screen.

_Did your father hate you too, Jimmy?_ he wondered. Then he pulled out his phone. Aspen was right. Mac would be pleased with any information Adam could pass on. He made one last effort to detach himself from the boy in the pictures, and then he hit Mac's speed-dial.

--

Jessica Angell didn't normally take a back seat during interrogations, but Flack had seemed to have some plan, and so she let him call the shots as they entered the interrogation room where Lee Hamilton had been waiting for over an hour. She almost didn't recognize her partner as he led the way. An iron-rod calm had descended over him, and even his eyes were placidly blank. It was unnerving, knowing how personally Flack took things. But she trusted him to handle this. After all, he was a veteran, and although she wasn't exactly new to the game, she was curious to see how he operated.

He slid into the chair across from Lee Hamilton, his face an impartial mask. He calmly placed his hands on the stainless steel table top, his blue eyes meeting the suspect's without hesitation.

"Sorry about the wait, Dr. Hamilton. Guess they forgot about you. But I'll be having a chat with the officer in charge once we're through. Shall we get started?" he asked, his voice polite and even. Jessica hung back near the door, and she knew Flack was lying. Lee Hamilton had sat alone in this room for all that time on purpose. It was a tactic, just one more strategy to get the suspects talking. But obviously, Flack didn't want Lee to think that.

Lee, looking ill comforted by Flack's sudden politeness, only nodded. Flack, still utterly calm, continued.

"Where do you work, Dr. Hamilton?"

"A veterinary office in Manhattan. But you were there, Detective. You know that."

"Standard operating procedures, Dr. Hamilton. I'm just covering all the bases. Your wife is an interior decorator?"

"Yes. She works out of our home. I spend most of my time at my offices."

Flack nodded as if this made all the sense in the world. Jessica got a peek of the anger that he was keeping in check just below the surface, but she bided her time, letting him play his game.

"You've got a new daughter, don't you?"

"Yeah, Sarah. She's five months old."

"Congratulations."

"Yeah. Thanks."

"A five month old baby, a successful job…sounds like a good life." Flack's eyes changed, hardened, the irises becoming chips of blue ice. Lee Hamilton had been relaxing, finding the atmosphere wasn't what he'd been expecting. But the tide was about to turn, Jessica could sense it. Flack was about to rip his world right open. He held Hamilton's gaze calmly, and he kept his voice absolutely smooth. But his next question was brutal, a reality check.

"Did you like carving up his body, Lee?"

Lee jerked in his chair, completely caught off guard. "_What?_"

Flack stood, letting his jacket slip off of his shoulders. He draped it neatly over the back of the chair he'd just vacated, then he skirted around it. His voice, still quiet, had an edge to it that was chilling.

"What, no comment? You mean you're not going to tell me how much you enjoyed taking Jimmy apart like one of the patients on your operating table?" He continued before Lee could answer, taking grim satisfaction in the way he controlled the situation.

"Guess it was lucky for him you knew how much sodium pentobarbital to use, right? Maybe you perfected the technique on some of the animals at your office."

Jessica frowned. If Flack was right, that would bump the charges up to murder in the first degree and mayhem. Add in the child endangerment and a host of other minor charges, and Lee was looking at a very long stay in isolation at Sing Sing. But something was off.

Hamilton was shaking his head in quick, violet jerks.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" He looked like he was crumbling -- but not from guilt. Jessica knew what that looked like. This looked like fear.

"No?" Flack arched an eyebrow. He began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, still calm. Jessica wasn't sure how he did it, but she could tell it was taking an effort -- the muscles of his forearms were bunched and she could tell he was ready to lash out at the guy. "So in that case, you wanna tell me where you were on the night Jimmy died? Because I'm just dying to know." That last was punctuated by a sneer, and Flack watched as Lee floundered for an answer, finally beginning to show some of his disgust.

Jessica took that as her cue to step forward. Flack didn't react as she came forward to get in a few questions of her own.

"Dr. Hamilton. You're missing over a thousand milligrams of this stuff. And we're all aware that the law requires you to keep track and report each milligram bought and used."

"I…the order came in wrong. It was four doses short, so I called the supplier…"

"But they'd sent you the correct amount, hadn't they?" She'd already double-checked this fact herself, having put in a call to the supplier while Hamilton had cooled his heels alone in the interrogation room.

"That's what they said, but we never received the other four doses, so…"

Jessica's eyes narrowed. "And where were you when the order came in, Dr. Hamilton? Didn't you sign for it?"

"There was…there was a bulldog having a litter of puppies, but there were complications. I had to perform a cesection. I was booked solid from eight to five, except for an hour of lunch. And I spent that with Dr. Sorenson, a friend of my wife and mine. He'll tell you the same. We ate on the Greene."

"So you were too busy to oversee the arrival of highly toxic chemicals." She said it matter-of-factly, as if that were perfectly acceptable, and Lee flinched. "So…why put Jimmy down like an ailing pet?"

"I would never hurt Jimmy. Never. Sure, Euthasol's a good way to put down an animal. It's quick and painless. But to give it to a _child…_" He shook his head, overwhelmed.

"Mm…the fact remains that we found the sodium pentobarbital in Jimmy's blood. And you just so happen to be missing enough to be lethal to a child of Jimmy's age and build. I'm willing to bet that the dose in his blood would match a sample from the rest of that order."

"I don't know anything. I swear to God, I don't know anything."

"Then who did you give the Euthasol to, Lee? Or did you and your wife do it together?" she asked.

Flack took a picture out of the Hamilton case file. He flicked it across the table to Lee, his own body reacting to the image though he'd already seen it a hundred times. He managed to keep himself under control. Lee did not.

"Maybe she's the clumsy one. Maybe her hands slipped there at the end. Huh, Lee? But was it your idea or hers?" Flack was leaning over the vet now, his eyes unblinking and hard.

"No! Jesus, no. I didn't sign for the damn Euthasol. I don't know what happened to the sodium pentobarbital, and I didn't have anything to do with it!"

Flack leaned back and looked at Jessica. "Well. That's enough to get your license revoked, isn't it, Lee?"

Lee only shook his head and buried his face in his hands, refusing to look at the picture of his son's body. Flack shook his head, disgusted. He looked over at Jessica, and she felt waves of his revulsion pouring off of him. Then he scooped up the picture, returned it to the file, and headed for the door.

"Don't get too comfortable, Lee. We'll be in touch."

Then he held the door open for Jessica as she stepped out of the interrogation room, and a uniformed officer entered to handcuff the broken man at the table.


	3. Chapter 3

**SPOILERS: **Series through episode 4.16, "Right Next Door."

**NOTES:** The title of this story comes from the song, "Dismantle.Repair" by _Anberlin_, which is on their album "Cities."

**IN ADDITION:** I've gone with _Jessica_ Angell as opposed to _Jennifer_ Angell, because while I like the name Jennifer better, the most recent cast lists for the show have the character listed under the name Jessica. But I have to admit, she looks to me more like a Jen than a Jess.

**THANK YOUS: **To **NC17Life**, **BlueShadowdancer**, **ImaSupernaturalCSI**, **Mauveine**, **iluvcsi4ever**, **shadoo**, **lilymoonlight**, and **Is-Brea-LiomCSI-NY** and you amazing people who added myself or this story to your alerts/favorites lists. I have been overwhelmed by the response to this story and I can't tell you how happy all the positive support has made me. I should have dedicated this thing to you guys!

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Chapter.Three

"I don't like him for this, Mac." Flack shook his head as they entered the Crime Labs. "Lee was cracking at the seams…if he had known anything else, he woulda told us."

Mac Taylor rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried to wrestle his nasty headache into submission. He had watched the interrogation from the observation room behind the double-sided mirror. He knew Flack was right, and it frustrated the hell out of him. With an effort, he straightened and nodded at the other detective, noticing that the younger man mirrored his emotions. Exhaustion, restlessness…it was all there. The both of them were running on bodega coffee and willpower.

"We have to find out who forged his signature and took those four doses of sodium pentobarbital," he said. Flack nodded. "I'll send Danny with you over to the vets and he can collect a control sample from the remaining Euthasol in the order."

"Sure thing, Mac."

"And I want this guy's life ripped apart, Don." Mac's eyes met Flack's, his gaze steely. "I want to know everything about him. And I want the names of anyone who might have had a reason to hurt him or his family."

"Already on it," Flack agreed. "I'll call you when I find something." With a wave, the tall detective made his way out of the labs. Mac watched him go and struggled to focus on what the next step was. His headache was getting the better of him.

"Hey, boss!" At the sound of a familiar voice, Mac turned and spotted Adam Ross jogging toward him, papers in hand.

"I hope that's good news, Adam," he said. Adam managed not to falter, sliding to a halt in front of his boss. He listened as the tech described his theory about the Japanese ball-joint dolls. He examined the photographs of the dolls in various stages of construction and reconstruction, and he read over the summary of the process as Adam explained.

"You see, sir. There. How the lacerations on Jimmy's body coincide with the way these ball-joint dolls come apart."

"Yes, I see it, Adam." He looked up. "This doesn't sound like a popular hobby."

Adam shrugged. "Actually, there are quite a few people in the US who have started getting into it, especially since anime is starting to make it big and--"

"So who is connected to the case that owns these dolls?"

Adam clamped his mouth shut and lifted his brows, then shrugged again. He had no idea, unfortunately. He lowered his face. He knew it was just a theory and he didn't have much to prove that this was the killer's intent, and his lack of knowledge was a little embarrassing in front of someone as locked down as Mac Taylor. He jumped as Mac put a hand on his shoulder. Mac met his gaze as he looked up, realizing again how much he liked the young tech. He'd personally recruited Adam for the Crime Labs as soon as the man had been handed a Master's in Biophysics, and he hadn't regretted it once. Adam had an enthusiasm for the job that was matchless, and he never complained about all the footwork he had to do. But a shadow had fallen over him ever since Mac had given him this case, and the senior detective wondered know if he'd made the right decision.

"It's a good lead, Adam," he said. The other man nodded. "Thanks. Do you have anything else for me?"

"DNA results from Lee Hamilton. Chances are pretty good that because his genes are normal, any mutations Jimmy might have gotten are on the mom's side."

"Alright. I want you to work with Danny and get a match to the sodium pentobarbital from Lee Hamilton's veterinary office," Mac told him. "Have Kendall double-check your work."

"Yeah, absolutely." Adam nodded. Mac's face darkened.

"Are you alright with this case, Adam? I can reassign you."

Adam jerked, immediately defensive, and Mac internally flinched. He'd been too blunt. The redhead looked stricken.

"Is…look, Mac, I'll try harder, okay? I know I haven't had a lot of information for you, but I can…I mean…"

"That's not what I meant. It's a tough case, Adam, and considering--"

"I'm fine, Mac." Adam had firmed, his shoulders straightening. "It's not compromising my work. I'm fine."

Mac sighed and decided this was one battle he didn't need to fight right now. He made a mental note to have Kendall keep an eye on the tech and give him progress reports. In the meantime, he conceded defeat. He nodded and Adam retreated with haste, grateful for the reprieve.

He turned and headed back toward his office, and he supposed he really shouldn't have been surprised to see Stella standing just a few feet away, waiting for him. He made himself smile and noticed that Stella's mouth firmed. He fell into step beside her without a word, and she didn't speak until she'd led him back to her own office, where she dug around in her desk until she found some Excedrin.

"Thanks," he mumbled, accepting the pills and the water bottle she passed to him.

"It's been a long day for all of us," she said. "Listen, I'm going to grab Hawkes and head over to Jimmy's school to talk with his teachers, maybe interview some of the other parents. It might give us a lead on who would have wanted to hurt Jimmy."

"He had terminal cancer, Stella." Mac shook his head, allowing some of his own grief and horror to show. She touched his shoulder and he looked up at her. "He was going to die anyway. It couldn't have been more than a few weeks. Why murder him? Why now?"

She shook her head and drew him in for a hug. "It's our job to figure that out."

He nodded and returned her embrace, and once again he took strength from her when otherwise he might have faltered.

"We'll figure this one out, Mac. I promise."

--

Lindsay stared at the stainless steel operating table, which gleamed under the lights of the trace lab. It hadn't given her anything. There were no prints, no trace, nothing but the victim's DNA. Whoever had moved it to the abandoned building had been careful and worked clean. And she was beginning to feel Adam's frustration. It seemed to have come from nowhere, but she'd called the supplier and was hoping to hear back about any suspicious orders. The problem was that with the number of hospitals, clinics, morgues and veterinary offices in the City that used tables identical to this one, it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. It could have come from anywhere, and if Lee Hamilton were somehow involved, he hadn't been stupid enough to use one of the tables from his own vet. His were all accounted for, according to his staff.

"You look discouraged," Kendall said as she stepped into the lab.

"This is a dead end," Lindsay replied, letting her shoulders slump.

"Are you alright? You look a little pale." Kendall didn't want to say that Lindsay had been looking a little under the weather for a little over a week now. The woman obviously had more than the case on her mind. Miserable, Lindsay slumped even further.

_I told him I'd fallen for him and now it's too late to take it back,_ she wanted to say. Instead she shrugged.

"I dunno. This is a tough one, and Danny…" She looked up at the blonde tech. "Danny's still torn up about Ruben, and we've been fighting a lot lately."

"Men." Kendall sighed. "Thick as brick walls. And just as conversational."

Lindsay smiled a little. "You got that right. I dunno, he just _will not_ talk to me. I have a feeling something is going on, but…I can't tell if it's just grief or if I'm just being paranoid or what. And he's been avoiding me lately. He says he wants to talk, but he hasn't said a word to me since then, and -- God, I'm sorry. You don't need to hear all of this."

Kendall smiled and touched Lindsay's arm. "He cares about you, Lindsay. He doesn't have a very good track record, but he cares about you. He'll tell you when he's ready."

"I…I'm just afraid I don't have the patience. I don't think I was ready for him, and then we just happened and now…now I think he regrets it."

"I think he's the one who's not ready." Kendall shook her head. "Danny isn't the kind of guy who knows how to deal with having someone supporting him and worrying about him."

Lindsay looked up, and in the midst of her concern and confusion, Kendall caught a glimpse of amusement.

"Kendall Novack, Boy-Whisperer?" she ventured. The blonde smiled.

"Not quite. But there certainly are a lot of interesting specimens around here to study. For the sake of science."

"Of course." Lindsay straightened again and turned her back on the table. She'd wait. She'd wait for Danny to talk to her about what was bothering him. She'd also wait to hear back from the supplier. And in the meantime, there were other angles to consider. She had been given the task of tracking the Hamilton's movements over the days leading up to Jimmy's disappearance in the hopes that anomalies would be discovered. She said goodbye to Kendall and headed for a desk where she could begin the process, making sure she had a phone nearby. There was going to be a lot of footwork if she was going to establish a credible timeline, and she was just hoping it would pay off.

--

Danny knew Flack was staring at him. Danny knew that Flack knew that something was wrong. And Danny wasn't sure he was ready to talk about it, or that Flack was ready to hear about it. But Danny also knew that Flack wasn't going to let it go. So he sighed, dropped his forensics kit on the table in the supply room of Hamilton's veterinary clinic, and turned to face his friend. Flack was trying to be nonchalant, but as soon as Danny turned to him, he dropped the act.

"Danno. You know I'm gonna ask you what's been goin' on with you, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I wish you wouldn't. But I know."

"I thought you were doing pretty good with the whole Ruben thing."

"I lied." Danny turned away again, opening his kit and pulling out latex gloves. "It still kills me every day. Every day I wake up and it's the first thing I think about."

"Dan," Flack said, and there was a lot of sympathy in that one syllable. He didn't bother with the normal platitudes -- after all, everyone had already told Danny that it wasn't his fault, that there had been nothing he could have done, that he followed correct procedure considering the circumstances. Flack didn't have anything useful to add to those assurances. All he had was regret that his friend was taking it so personally, even after the past couple of months.

"And then, you know what? I finally think I'm starting to figure it all out, I finally think that maybe I've got some of it put together, and Lindsay broadsides me at work the other day."

Flack didn't say anything. He'd neglected to mention that Danny had been kind of avoiding Lindsay for a while. He'd chalked it up to the grief, and to Danny's need to handle the really tough stuff alone. But something didn't jive, and he'd been a detective too long not to trust his instincts.

"She's all mad at me because I haven't come to her. You kiddin' me? _She_ comes to _me_ and gets made because _I_ haven't broken down and bawled all over _her _shoulder. And she does this while we're sitting in the middle of the labs. In the goddamn middle of our shift."

Flack stiffened. There was a little too much defensiveness in Danny's anger. "Danny. Come on. She said you haven't seen each other outside of work in close to two weeks. When else was she supposed to talk to you?"

"If it was that important, she could have told me she needed to talk privately."

Flack felt his muscles getting tense. He wasn't sure why, but Danny's callousness was bothering him. The Italian had always had the tendency to be a little careless in his speech when he was angry, but Flack had seen how distressed Lindsay had been lately, and how much effort it had taken her to keep silent over the past eight weeks. Danny was so upset that his hands were shaking, and he fumbled as he twisted off the stopper on a vial of sodium pentobarbital.

"Dan. What's really going on here?"

"Nothing. Why does anything have to be going on?"

Flack shook his head. "Because _you_ are way too antsy to be telling me the whole truth. I'm a detective, remember? This is my job."

Danny froze. Flack could see the muscles in his back tensing, but it was hard to get a read on his friend's expression with his back turned. Still, he could feel the tension radiating off of the other, and he knew he'd struck a nerve.

"You can't just leave it alone, can you?"

"You're my friend."

"Then you should have just left it alone."

Flack wasn't prepared for Danny to take a swing at him. Sure, they'd had their arguments before -- both had a temper on them, and years of association and friendship meant they knew how to push each other's buttons. But Danny had never tried to punch him before. As Danny swung around, the full force of his body behind the coming attack, Flack reflexively tried to duck, but Danny's fist still connected with Flack's jaw. The glancing blow sent a jolt of pain through the taller man's head.

"What the hell, Danny?" he spat, grabbing his friend and flipping him down onto the tabletop with effort. Danny's anger made him a reckless fighter, and Flack managed to best him without taking too much damage. He wrestled the CSI, finally locking the other's arms behind his back as if he were some kind of perp Flack had picked up off the street, forcing his upper body against the tabletop.

"Alright, _now_ you wanna tell me what's got you so pissed off? Or do I have to call Mac and have him get the story outta you while you sit tight and wait for Internal Affairs to question you for assaulting a fellow officer?" It was an empty threat, and Danny probably knew it, but the fear of having to answer to Mac for his anger was enough to get Danny to stop struggling. He went lax and, alert for another swing, Flack let him up.

Danny mumbled something as he straightened, and positive that he'd just gotten a confession from his friend, Flack leaned in closer.

"Say again?"

"I slept with Rikki," Danny repeated, his voice a mixture of rage, shame, and defensiveness.

"Rikki Sandoval?" Flack pulled away, and this blow hurt more than the swing that had connected with his chin. "Jesus, Dan. I know your judgment about this whole thing has been clouded, but what the hell were you thinking?"

"I just wanted to feel better." Danny looked up at him. "It was just sex. I only wanted it to stop hurting for just one night. Just for a little while."

"Danny. Jeez." Flack rocked back on his heels. "Have you told Lindsay?"

"How'm I gonna tell her something like that, huh? Come on, Don. I can't tell her."

"You've got to tell her." Danny looked away. "Look at me. Dan. You have _got_ to tell her."

"I can't. She says she's fallen in love with me. How can I look her in the eyes and tell her that, 'thanks, and I think I could fall for you too, but I just had comfort sex with the woman whose son I got killed' ?"

"She deserves to know." Flack shook his head. "She's under the impression that you two were getting serious, and she deserves to know."

"Yeah, well…" Danny shrugged and took the sample of the sodium pentobarbital. "You're right, Flack. But that doesn't mean I can do it."

Flack turned away from his friend, hardly able to stand the sight of him at the moment. He'd never pegged Danny as a coward. A player, misguided, a little too passionate, sure. But never a coward. Disappointment slammed into him like an express train, and he headed for the door.

"Let's just go back. Adam's waiting for that sample," was all he said. And Danny trailed after him, silent.

--

Hawkes glanced around the nurse's office and tried to remember the last time he'd been in one. His grade school days were long over, but seeing the small room reminded him of all the times he'd dragged himself to his own school nurse, pleading illness in order to be sent home. It hadn't usually worked. Hawkes had always been much younger than his peers, and something of an outcast, but the nurse had always sent him back to class. He supposed now that she'd seen right through him. Smiling, he settled into the chair. Nurses tended to be formidable advisories to ten-year-old kids.

"What's so funny?" Stella asked.

"Just thinking about my school nurse. And how she had to threaten me with shots to get me to go back to class."

Stella laughed. "It's hard to imagine you trying to ditch."

He shrugged. "It never worked. I just hope _this _nurse doesn't come in with needles. You might be on your own."

Stella opened her mouth to respond, but the door opened and a young woman stepped into the room. In spite of himself, Hawkes felt his own jaw dropping. She was beautiful. Tall and slender, beautiful mocha skin with elegant bearing and hair that…

He shook himself. He really needed to get out of the labs more. And to focus. He also really needed to focus. He realized he was experiencing the rather uncomfortable phenomenon of sweaty palms, and he slid his hands into his coat pockets to keep anyone else from noticing.

"Nurse Foster? I'm Stella Bonasera, this is Dr. Sheldon Hawkes. We're with the New York City Crime Labs." Stella stood to offer her hand, and Hawkes followed suit.

"Of course." Gabriella Foster's brow was slightly furrowed in confusion, but she gave a firm handshake in return. "What can I do for you?"

"We're investigating James Hamilton's murder," Hawkes said, pleased that his voice was so steady.

"Oh. Yes…the principal told me this morning that Jimmy's body had been recovered." Gabriella's face instantly softened. "I couldn't believe it when I heard. He was a good kid. Really cheerful, even in spite of the cancer."

"Did you see him very often?"

Gabriella shook her head. "I checked in on him from time to time during the week after he got diagnosed, but he was a pretty healthy kid. He didn't end up in here very often. I saw him a little more often once the cancer worsened. I'd administer his painkillers throughout the school day."

"Shots?" Hawkes asked. Even after a stint as a fully certified, trained surgeon, he still didn't like shots. Gabriella seemed to sense this and smiled, shaking her head.

"Not if I could avoid it. Pills, usually. He hated them, but he hated the shots worse."

"And how familiar with his parents are you?"

Gabriella paused and considered. "Hardly at all. I spoke with Mrs. Hamilton a number of times about Jimmy's painkillers and his diet. But I've only met Mr. Hamilton once. They seemed devoted to Jimmy when I spoke to them. Mrs. Hamilton especially so. When she found out Jimmy had cancer, I think it really devastated her. He could do no wrong in her eyes."

"When were you made aware of his condition?" Hawkes asked. She turned her eyes to his and he realized she had a calm manner that had him relaxing his vigilance. He made a mental note to be sharper.

"Actually, I recommended that he get a check-up when he came into my office complaining about pain in his abdomen and lower back. He was diagnosed a couple of weeks after that."

"Did Jimmy ever complain about his home life? Or did you notice any enemies here at school?" Stella asked.

"No. He was a bright kid, and happy. He sometimes complained that his mother was around a lot, but he's a young boy. All he wanted to do was go outside and play instead of hang out with his mom." Gabriella shrugged. "I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt him."

Stella looked at Hawkes. They weren't having a lot of luck here. Jimmy's teachers had all pretty much confirmed Gabriella's testimony. They stood and Hawkes beat Stella to offering his card. He was handing it out a little often these days, but it occurred to him that today his motive was a little selfish. He wouldn't mind the chance to speak with Gabriella Foster again, even if she was a nurse and had needles in her arsonal.

"If you think of anything, please call us," he said, ignoring Stella's look of amusement as he passed his card over. Gabriella took it and nodded.

"Good luck," she said. "I hope you catch him."

They left after that, and Hawkes avoided Stella's gaze until the pair of them climbed into the car. Then he looked at her and said, "What?"

Stella's smile bloomed into a grin. "That was pretty smooth, doc."

Hawkes was glad that she couldn't tell he was blushing. "Just doing my job," he replied.

"Right." She put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot. "But I do have to say, Dr. Sheldon Hawkes, that you have remarkable bedside manner."

Hawkes only made a face at her. But he couldn't be mad for long -- in the midst of this disheartening case, he couldn't help but think he'd found a nice little bright spot.


	4. Chapter 4

**SPOILERS:** series through episode 4.16, "Right Next Door."

**THANK YOUS:** I've had a lot of loyalty so far, and it's awesome. I'd like to thank **Mauveine, ImaSupernaturalCSI, iluvcsi4ever, daytime drama, shadoo, lilymoonlight**, and **BlueShadowdancer** for their reviews last time round. Writing this story is both fun and challenging, and I've tried to keep it very close to the spirit of the show. The encouragement I've gotten so far has definitely helped me to keep going. I hope you guys enjoy this latest chapter!

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Chapter.Four

The A/V lab's numerous screens had all been dedicated to the blown-up image of a signature. Adam Ross stepped into his domain and glanced around with wide eyes. This definitely was not the way he'd left it. And then he turned and saw Stella entering the room again with a fresh bottle of water and a look of determination. She glanced at him and noticed the tightness around his eyes and mouth, the slight pallor of his face, and wondered if Mac should have just pulled him off the case anyway.

"This is _supposedly_ Lee Hamilton's signature, from the order form that confirmed the delivery of the Euthasol," she explained. "I'm comparing it to a genuine sample of Hamilton's signature, to determine forgery."

Adam nodded. He'd never been good at graphology, but Stella had a knack for it. "Any idea about who might have faked the signature?"

Stella shook her head. "His secretary confessed to having done it before, but I've already compared her attempt against the question document. No match. I recruited Aspen to run the prints we lifted from the document through AFIS."

He nodded and sat down. She watched him for a long moment. She'd been an excellent judge of people from a young age -- an absolute necessity when growing up an orphan at the mercy of the system -- and she could tell that Adam was shutting down. He probably didn't want to talk about it, but she was concerned, and not just as his boss. Following the loss of her apartment, Adam had reached out and shown her compassion. As his friend, she felt compelled to do the same.

"What's up, Adam?"

"Hm?" He looked up. Then he shook himself. "Oh, right. I confirmed that the sample of sodium pentobarbital that Danny collected and the sodium pentobarbital found in Jimmy Hamilton's blood match. The chemical fingerprint was identical, so it definitely came from Lee Hamilton's shipment. And I'd be happy to run your handwriting samples through FISH for you -- that's the Forensic Information System for Handwriting. It's pretty cool, it's maintained by the Secret Service, and mostly it's used in those big money cases, ya know, like--"

"Adam." Stella touched his shoulder. "I meant, what's up with you?"

He shrugged. "Mac wants to take me off the case."

"I know. But that's for you, Adam. He wants to make sure that you're okay."

Adam shot out of his chair, suddenly all uncontained energy. "Look, just because my father used to beat me doesn't mean that I can't do my job, and I'm working on who might know how to maintain ball-joint dolls, and--!"

A knock at the open door caused both Stella and Adam to turn. Standing in the doorway was Aspen, a file clutched in her hand. She looked stunned, but she quickly composed her features. She walked over to Stella and passed over the papers. Her eyes swept over Adam's drawn features, and he searched her expression in return. He didn't want anyone's pity. He'd spent most of his life proving himself and he certainly didn't need the sympathy of a stranger. But there was none. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, and before he could get a better read on her, she'd turned back to Stella.

"The prints on the document didn't come back to anyone in AFIS. So I did a few manual comparisons from the elimination prints we took from the Hamiltons and the staff at the veterinary office, and I got a match." Aspen looked grave. "The prints match Jessamyn Hamilton."

Stella's eyes widened. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes. I checked twice, and then I had Danny and Kendall double check, as well."

"So…" Feeling a little more like himself, Adam narrowed his eyes in thought. "So, you're saying that Jessamyn Hamilton handled the order form. And if that's true, then…"

Stella turned back to the blown-ups of the signature. "Then she might be the one who signed for the sodium pentobarbital. I've got to get a sample signature from her."

"You think the mom did it?" Adam asked. Stella shook her head.

"I don't know what to think. But you know what Mac always says…everything is connected."

--

Danny stared at the results from the chemical analysis he'd run on the sodium pentobarbital. Adam had already left to spread the word about the results, but Danny stayed put in his chair. He looked down at his knuckles and sighed. Don Flack, who had been his friend since he'd started work at the labs, was hardly able to look at him. He was out of control, and a small part of him knew it. The larger part rebelled. He hadn't meant for things with Lindsay to get so serious. He'd purposefully avoided defining their relationship. He liked to leave himself an escape route, it was just standard operating procedure as far as he was concerned. He didn't want to get hurt. He didn't want to hurt anybody.

_You are a bastard._ He shook his head. _And Lindsay's not going to forgive you for it._

He couldn't help but still feel a little stunned. He hadn't been expecting her to go and tell him she was in love with him. Even now, a week after she'd told him, it hit him like a fist in the solar plexus. Love. When had it gotten that serious? She had been so much fun when she'd started at the labs, and their beginning had been such a whirlwind that sometimes he still felt like he was catching his breath. But love? _Love?_

_You are the biggest bastard that ever lived._ He dragged himself out of his chair. He thought of Lindsay, of her enthusiasm for life and for the job, her love of new things and her devotion to the people she cared about. And he thought of Rikki, who looked up at him with big, heartbroken eyes, and how that made him want to beg her for absolution.

_Just the guy she smiles at in the hall. Makes jokes with at the mailboxes,_ he reminded himself. _That's all you were -- maybe all you _are_ -- to Rikki. But Lindsay…_

He was sick of his own internal dialogue. He slammed out of Trace and headed toward the elevator, determined to get some air.

And he ran right smack into Mac. Who was probably the last person he wanted to see right now. His boss stared at him for a moment, then jerked his finger toward his office. Danny heaved out a breath as Mac led the way.

Busted. Again.

Mac motioned for him to sit and Danny did so, wondering why he felt like he was a child again, and about to get disciplined by his father. Mac didn't look pleased, and Danny braced himself.

"I want you to tell me what's been going on with you lately." It was not a question. Danny had to fight the urge to squirm.

"C'mon, Mac, it's just been a hard couple months."

"Danny." Mac had drill instructor bearing in his posture, and his gaze didn't waver. He wasn't going to let the younger detective leave here without some concrete answers. Sitting across from him, Danny wondered how every killer didn't just crack and confess all. Mac Taylor was a force to be reckoned with…he'd always been. And when he wanted something, he usually got it. Including information.

"Things with Lindsay…they're not so good right now."

He nodded. "How've you been dealing with Ruben Sandoval's death?"

Danny hesitated. He couldn't bring himself to tell his boss, with such a strong moral compass, that he'd been sleeping with Ruben's mother. But if he didn't, Mac would probably find out anyway, and that would probably be worse, and he glanced down at his bruised knuckles again.

"Not well," he admitted.

"Don't make me force you into vacation time, Danny. I don't want to do it, and in the midst of this Hamilton case, I can't really afford to. I think you should take the rest of the day and sort things out."

Danny opened his mouth to protest, but Mac lifted a hand.

"Come back in here with a plan for how you're going to get everything back under control." His tone wasn't too forgiving, but Danny knew better: Mac hadn't been kidding about forcing him into vacation, and this was an unexpected reprieve. "And sort things out with Lindsay."

Danny winced at the last, but nodded. Mac was usually a little tough on him, but Danny usually ended up thanking him for it. He lifted himself from the chair and nodded. Without another word, he trailed out of the office and toward the locker rooms. Mac watched him go, then got up and headed to Stella's office, where she was waiting to update him.

--

Flack was glad that Jessamyn Hamilton wasn't home. He'd managed to get a warrant pretty fast, considering the circumstances, but he was in no mood to deal with the woman. He headed into the nursery and took a moment to look around, stepping closer to the shelves. He could hear Angell in the living room, poking through bookshelves. He wasn't hopeful that they'd find much, but it was one of those necessary functions that would strengthen their case -- should they have one -- when the time came to go to court.

"Anything?" he called over his shoulder.

"Not yet," was Angell's reply. She wandered after him into the nursery. "What're we looking for?"

Flack's smile was capricious. "Mac didn't say exactly. He just said we'd know it when we saw it, if it were here to be seen."

Angell lifted her eyebrows. "Helpful."

"That's Mac."

He was trying to ignore the fact that she looked very beautiful today. But then, she looked beautiful every time he saw her, and it was getting more and more distracting as time went on. Angell seemed to sense a growing discomfort and turned her eyes away, running them over the room instead of the detective.

"So…they really think the mom might have done it?"

"I dunno. The doc didn't seem to think she was capable, but Mac told me to get a warrant and follow the evidence. So here we are." Flack shrugged. "Kinda hard for me to imagine a mother being detached enough to do what was done to that little boy. But there are some real sick people in the world."

They searched through the room systematically before moving into the master bedroom -- and Angell made an interesting discovery.

"I don't think they were sharing this room anymore. There's no evidence of Lee spending significant time in this room," she said. Flack looked closer and saw what she was talking about. There were books about design and there were magazines about home decorating and fashion. A couple of romance novels. Pink slippers and a woman's bathrobe. But nothing else. No Clancy novels ( because honestly, what guy didn't read Clancy? ), no veterinary journals, nothing to indicate the husband.

"Hm. Funny they didn't mention that before."

"Especially after just having a baby," Angell agreed.

Flack wandered around, digging into the closet while Angell went through the dresser. They found nothing of particular interest, and Flack felt himself starting to get a little frustrated. This whole damn case made him mad. He didn't like to think that some ten-year-old kid could be murdered and the people who did it could just get away with it. He'd been a ten-year-old kid in the city once -- it wasn't a safe place to grow up anyway. He shook his head.

"No luck on my end."

"No me, either." He turned and Angell was right behind him, and a different sort of frustration overwhelmed him. He could never just be smooth with her. It always came out…well, _goofy_. And here she was, two feet away from him, and he was pretty sure he was staring at her mouth when he meant to be looking at her eyes, and he really didn't want to come across as a total asshole, so he just looked somewhere else.

"Let's check that closet we saw in the hall. Then we'll just have to tell Mac that there was nothing," he muttered, feeling awkward and tall and rather like he was made entirely of elbows."

She followed him to it, pressing close as he opened the door so she could see, although to see over his shoulder meant standing on her tiptoes. It was full of boxes. Flack made a noise in his throat -- half frustration, half curiosity -- and pulled one down. He passed it over to Angell, then pulled down another one. He was opening it when Angell's hand touched his arm. He glanced up and she was looking at him, and her usual confidence was gone.

"Flack, listen. Did you maybe want to…I dunno…I mean, when our shift is over and--"

Flack closed his eyes and hated himself for cutting her off, because he absolutely _did_ want to do whatever it was she was about to suggest ( so long as it didn't have anything to do with heights ), but he'd caught a glimpse of what was in the box in his hands and he had to.

"Angell. Call Mac." He lifted a bone saw from his box. "I think he's gonna wanna know about this."

Crestfallen, Angell nodded and turned from him. Flack caught her wrist as she did, and she glanced back.

"And hey. Beer after work?"

She paused. Then she smiled. "Alright, Jr., but you're buying."

Flack grinned and shook his head. "Only if you stop calling me Jr. I don't mind ya calling me Don, but that Jr. crap has got to stop."

She didn't make any promises, he noticed, but she did seem to be very much relieved when she stepped away to call Mac. And Flack thought maybe his game wasn't so bad, after all.

--

Hawkes touched Lindsay's shoulder as he passed her. She looked up and he could tell she didn't have her heart in her work today. A pang went through him. He'd had a soft spot for her. He'd been at the tail end of his rookie days as a CSI when she had just been starting hers, and he could sympathize with her on all the nasty jobs, the bad jokes, and the general sense of needing to catch up that had come along with being the newest member of Mac's team. Seeing her in pain effected him, and he gave her a gentle smile.

"Hey," she said. "Heading out?"

"Mac and I are heading over to the Hamiltons to bag and analyze some evidence Flack found. Sounds like medical tools -- the kind that might have been used on Jimmy's body."

Lindsay shivered. Hawkes was trying to be gentle -- as a former ME, the horror of what had been done to Jimmy wasn't lessened, but he could make it technical in a way that Lindsay couldn't. It was his first line of defense, and he was thankful for it.

"Good luck," she said.

"Thank you." He caught her shoulders in his hands and turned her to look him in the eye. "Lindsay."

She made herself meet his gaze.

"You'll get through this. And we need you. This is a tough case, and the kid…he deserves answers."

She seemed to take strength in that. She managed to smile and nod. "You're right."

Hawkes smiled back at her and let her go. He was protective of the team. His own family he rarely saw -- a falling out when he'd left the hospital had exposed deeper feelings of resentment and bitterness in some of his relations, and so he hadn't spoken to them much. To compensate, he made the members of his team his family, and each victim he took personally. He knew there was a danger in thinking that way, but it helped him in his determination to get the job done, to solve the case and serve justice. And he knew that Lindsay was no less passionate, even when she was dealing with something rocky in her personal life.

"I heard Mac sent Danny home early. Maybe now is a good time to talk to him," he suggested, hoping he wasn't overstepping his boundaries. But Lindsay looked relieved.

"I should just get it over with," she said. Hawkes didn't agree out loud, but he _did_ agree. Not only would it be better for her personally, but it would allow her to put her full focus into her work, and save her from one of Mac's tongue-lashings. "I think I'll take a lunch. Thanks, Hawkes."

"Sure." He waved and headed out, anxious to catch up with his boss before he got too impatient. Lindsay watched him and then braced herself for what was coming. She wasn't looking forward to it, but the showdown was long overdue. There was no reason to keep putting it off, and if Danny wasn't going to make good on his suggestion that they talk, then she would. She grabbed her stuff and, leaving what she didn't need in the lockers at the labs, headed for Danny's apartment. For better or worse, she was going to find out what could be done about their situation. She just hoped she was as prepared as she thought she was. Danny had a way of worming past her defenses.

She slipped onto the subway and breathed, just to calm herself. She didn't call him, she didn't want him to expect her and slip away again. She just hoped she wouldn't be walking into something that she didn't want to see.


	5. Chapter 5

**SPOILERS:** Series through episode 4.16, "Right Next Door."

**THANK YOUS: **I want to start this by saying, WOW. I got a _huge_ response over the past few days, and I was really flattered and surprised! The compliments and the thoughts that I got to read were inspiring and fun. I never expected to get this much attention for this story, and I hope it lives up to everyone's expectations. That said, I've got a lot of thank yous to get through, so:  
_Chapters One, Two and Three: _thank you to **SallyJetson** and **Prinzessin** -- I'm glad you guys discovered and liked the story, and I'm really grateful that you reviewed the earlier chapters. Let me know what you think of chapter five!  
_Chapter Four: _thank you to **iluvcsi4ever**, **legolasfreak2**, **daytimedrama**, **rebandmel**, **ImaSupernaturalCSI**, **Ditto123**, **CSIMel**, **shadoo**, **lilymoonlight**, **BlueShadowdancer**, **Is-Brea-LiomCSI-NY**, **Prinzessin**, **Leena7**, **SallyJetson**, and **Mauveine**. A lot of you have stuck with this story from the beginning and reviewed every chapter, which is incredible encouragement. And to the newcomers, I am really glad that you've joined up and taken the time to let me know your thoughts. I hope you all enjoy the latest installment!

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**DISMANTLE.REPAIR**

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Chapter.Five

Stella Bonasera wasn't in the mood for funny business, and she reminded herself to be extra observant during her little visit. She knew she probably should have brought Flack along on her trip to collect a handwriting sample from Jessamyn Hamilton, but she hadn't wanted to wait for him at the labs, and so she found herself alone at the Hamilton's door. When Jessamyn answered, she looked surprised to see Stella standing there. A sleeping baby was cradled in her arms, and Stella had to harden her heart before she entered. Babies were always her undoing.

"Mrs. Hamilton, I'm Stella Bonasera from the New York Crime Labs. I called you about a handwriting sample?"

The other woman nodded and set the baby down in a bassinet. "Yes. I was expecting Dr. Hawkes again."

Stella didn't know how to respond to that, and didn't. Instead, she took a moment to look around the apartment. It was how Flack had described it, but something was bothering her as she looked over the living room. She couldn't put her finger on it, and it was maddeningly distractive.

"Mrs. Hamilton, are you and your husband having any kind of problems in your marriage?"

Jessamyn looked surprised by the question, as if she hadn't been expecting something of such a personal nature to come up while the detective was collecting a handwriting sample.

"Well." She paused and searched for an appropriate answer. "Jimmy's death has been difficult for us. And Sarah sleeps with me. Lee doesn't like to be kept up at night, and Sarah is having trouble sleeping the night through, so he sleeps in the extra bedroom. We're still trying to finish the nursery."

Stella nodded. She directed Jessamyn to write a few sentences, and to sign it. Then she had Jessamyn duplicate Lee's signature.

"What for?" Jessamyn asked.

"Elimination," Stella replied. She hadn't had time to come up with a better explanation, and so she stuck with a half-truth. "Your husband's secretary admitted to forging his signature on some documents, and even though we're pretty sure that's correct, we have to eliminate any other possible forgers."

Jessamyn looked uncomfortable, but she complied.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. I know this is a difficult time for you, but I really appreciate your being so cooperative."

"Yes. Anything to help," the woman replied, but she sounded distracted. Stella glanced around again, and Jessamyn's eyes narrowed, obviously suspicious of the detective's motives. "Can I do anything else for you, Detective?"

Stella turned and looked Jessamyn right in the eye. She was tempted to bring up the medical tools that Flack and Angell had discovered in the woman's closet, but she held her tongue. Flack wanted to question Lee Hamilton first, possibly to lull Jessamyn into a sense of false security before he brought her in for questioning as well. Stella tried to decide whether or not the woman seemed capable of something so horrible and decided that Hawkes was most likely correct in his first assessment. She just didn't seem to have the fortitude to do what had been done to Jimmy. She shook her head.

"No, Mrs. Hamilton. That's all I needed. Thank you for your time," she said, and with one last glance at the baby, she took her leave.

It didn't strike her until she was halfway back to the lab that there were no pictures of Jimmy visible in the apartment. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Either Jessamyn Hamilton couldn't bear to look at pictures of her little boy, or else she was trying to erase him completely.

--

Kendall hesitated outside of the door to Trace. She was fully aware that if Adam looked up, he'd be able to see her in her fit of uncertainty. But he seemed pretty focused.

Actually, he seemed pretty distraught. She wasn't sure how to handle that. The pair of them had always enjoyed a good tête-à-tête, so this new side of him was a little disconcerting. She didn't know how to approach him when he wasn't totally frustrated or else excited and consumed by a case. She knew how to tease him, how to coax a response out of him. But she was entirely unaware of how to get him to open up, and it was obvious that he needed someone to talk to.

Finally, she just screwed up her courage and entered. He glanced up, and then seeing that it was her, stopped what he was doing. He managed a smile for her, but it was stretched and lacked the full warmth of his normal grin.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey. And if you're here to tell me that you cracked the case," he said, holding up a hand, "I think I should be spared on the basis of…well, that you're just too good at this."

She gave him a smile, glad he was at least attempting humor. But his expression turned grave when he realized she wasn't there to kid with him. He turned back to his work, and she could practically see the walls he was reconstructing as he chemically analyzed the ink from the signature on the Euthasol order form. She watched him for a moment in silence, noting how well-practiced he was and how he moved around the lab without hardly having to pay attention. She wondered how often he stayed rather than just go home to an empty apartment.

"Kendall." That was all he said, just her name, and he was tense, as if he expected some sort of attack on his defenses. Well, she wasn't about to disappoint him. He'd been wandering around in such a fog that she was becoming truly concerned for him. She hadn't been around the labs long, but she _knew_ that this kind of thing was out of character for him. She opened her mouth and then shut it. What the hell was she supposed to say?

He looked up at her again, and something in his blue eyes was shattered. He was begging her not to ask. She dropped her gaze. She was never this unsure with guys. They fell all over themselves for her, and she'd always enjoyed the attention before. But Adam was different -- he was a _nice_ guy, the kind of guy you took home to mom. The kind of guy that you knew your dad wouldn't grumble much about.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice low.

"Everyone's been asking that lately," he said, dropping his gaze once more.

"You just don't seem right."

"Kendall," Adam touched her hand here, and she could see genuine warmth in his gaze. "I'm okay."

"No, you're not. I'm not letting you off the hook that easily."

One corner of his lips turned up and he shook his head a little. This calm was unexpected, and for once, he wasn't rambling. Kendall felt a wave of tenderness for him that she wasn't accustomed to. She was dangerously close to falling into his spell, and he was so far from her type it was humorous. But somehow she had gone from teasing him just to see him panic to really liking him, and she was left trying to figure out where these new emotions fit in her life.

"It's just…this case." He seemed pained to admit it, as though he were somehow conceding defeat. "It brings up bad memories. My brother and sister…we didn't have such a great home life, and seeing that little boy that way. It just… It made me think of how much my dad hated us. I'm not sure I can describe it," he said. He was nervous and ashamed, and she wrapped him up in a hug before she could think too much about it. He didn't speak any more, and after several long moments, she realized he wasn't going to.

"If you want to talk," she said, and it was an awkward offer, but she meant it. He smiled.

"I know, thank you."

She left, feeling unresolved. Whatever it was, he was clearly very sensitive about it. It sounded more personal than she really wanted to get, but she also felt the need to comfort him if she could. She didn't really _want_ to start something since they worked together, but she had to admit, he would be dedicated and thoughtful. She wondered how to crack his shell, or if she even should, as she returned to work.

--

"Fancy seeing you here, Lee." Flack gave the man a wicked smile as he slid into the chair. They were in the interrogation room again, and Flack was in a particular mood. He was eager to get this over with. After all, he had a date -- a _date_ -- but more than that, he wanted to crack this thing right open and nail Jimmy's killer or killers to the wall. He noticed that Lee made no response, but that didn't bother him much. He tapped the top of the table, then settled his hands.

"Guess what we found in your apartment."

Again, Lee maintained his silence.

"A bone saw. Not to mention a slew of other stuff, like scalpels and clamps. Pretty much everything you'd need to take apart a body. So what was that stuff doing in your apartment, huh?"

"I was just storing it at home."

"A bone saw." Flack lifted an eyebrow. "That's not something you leave lying around your apartment, Lee."

He shrugged. He seemed lethargic today, as if all the fight had drained out of him since he'd been detained. Flack watched him closely, but Lee Hamilton seemed genuinely worn down. He wondered for a moment if he was even barking up the right tree, but he had a feeling that there was something fishy going on.

"A bone saw would make it pretty easy to take Jimmy apart. You have to understand how that looks. You're not stupid." But Flack's tone implied just the opposite, and he had the gratification to see a flash of fury in Lee's eyes.

"Bone saws are messy, Detective, just like regular ones. If I were even capable of something like that, I sure as hell wouldn't use a bone saw, even if it would be easy."

Flack made a note to check with Mac about the crime scene, although he was fairly certain that there hadn't been any splatter or bone dust at the scene. Still, it was possible any mess created by the saw had been carefully cleaned up. It was just a guess, since he remembered Hawkes mentioning that the last cuts had been rushed -- there was a possibility that there hadn't been time to clean up, and that the saw hadn't been used after all. And then there was the fact that there hadn't been a lot of blood, either. The person who worked on Jimmy had been very meticulously neat.

"How come you and your wife don't sleep in the same bed anymore, Lee?" Flack asked suddenly. "You having problems?"

Lee nailed Flack with a look that spoke volumes about his thin patience. "Yes," he replied.

"How long?"

"A while. Since before Sarah. We thought having a baby might bring us closer together, but it didn't. When I'm home, I sleep in the nursery and Sarah sleeps with Jess."

"And when you're not at home?"

Lee stiffened. "I don't follow."

Flack snorted, genuinely amused. "Come on, Lee. Gimme some credit, huh? I've been around the block a few times. Where do you sleep when you're not at home?"

"If you're implying that I was having an affair, you're wrong," Lee snapped.

"Am I?" Flack was the picture of innocence. "So where'd you sleep?"

"At my brother's. In Queens," he replied.

"Well then, lemme put it to ya this way, buddy. Right now, as we speak, a malpractice suite is being put together against you. You're the prime suspect in the murder of your own son. Things aren't looking so good for you, and if I were in your shoes, I'd seriously consider giving us as much help as you can." Flack shrugged. "But hey, have it your way. I'm gonna go home and watch the Rangers game, maybe order a pizza. Doesn't matter to me whether you help out or not."

Lee stared up at him, then looked away. Flack left the interrogation room and shook his head. Lee still wasn't much of a help, but he had another stop to make. It was Jessamyn Hamilton's turn to come in and answer a few questions, and as much as he respect Dr. Hawkes' opinion, Flack wasn't going to go easy on her. One of them had to know _something_, and Flack wanted in on the big secret. He had a very distinct feeling that it was more than just Lee not sleeping next to his wife anymore, and if there was one thing he hated, it was to be out of the loop.

--

"I've got a lead on the ball-joint dolls," Aspen Murray said, poking her head into Mac's office. He looked up at the tech, surprised by the interruption. In light of how the investigation was going, however, it was a welcome one. He pushed away from his desk and stood, motioning for her to enter and close the door behind her.

"You do?"

She nodded. "I decided to help Adam out a bit and I started calling around to all the specialty and novelty toy shops in Manhattan. It took a while, but I found a tiny shop called _Sweet Dreams_. They specialize in Asian toys. I had him fax over a list of regular customers."

Mac nodded and Aspen handed him the fax. He glanced down the list to the name that Aspen had highlighted. _Gabriella Foster._ He looked up at Aspen, and she handed Mac a picture of the woman.

"That's Jimmy Hamilton's school nurse, the one that Stella and Hawkes interviewed. And I checked. She's been a regular customer for four months. The store owner, Jeff Thomas, knows her by name and sight."

Mac was flashing back to Hawkes' comment upon their discovery of Jimmy Hamilton's dismembered body: _anybody with a decent amount of upper body strength and an anatomy textbook._ Gabriella certainly fit that description. He frowned. The connection was unexpected, but he'd learned not to take too much for granted in all his years as a forensic investigator.

"Gabriella Foster would know enough about how to take these dolls apart to mimic doing it to a human body."

Aspen frowned. "Well, probably. You usually do some work on the dolls yourself, and Jeff Thomas said he'd demonstrated the technique to her personally when she bought her first doll. And as a nurse, she would be familiar with anatomy."

"But what's her motive?"

Aspen didn't answer. She was in over her head, and anyway, she knew it was a rhetorical question. Mac was just using her as a sounding board while his mind turned over the facts, hoping to compartmentalize Gabriella's involvement in the Hamilton case.

"Maybe…" She hesitated, uncertain she should speak up, but Mac's eyes cut into her as she spoke, and she knew she had better finish the thought now that she'd opened her mouth. "Maybe she wanted to put an end to his suffering. She cared for him, and the cancer doesn't have a cure."

Mac's eyes widened slightly. He seemed intrigued by the idea of it. "Jimmy Hamilton would have been going through a great amount of pain," he said. He'd had Hawkes give him the layman's version of what a person with pancreatic cancer could expect. "Almost like an assisted suicide."

"She would probably know or be able to figure out how much sodium pentobarbital to administer. It would have been a gentle death."

"But how would she get access to the Euthasol from Lee Hamilton's office? She said she didn't have much contact with him."

Aspen met his gaze, her mouth thinning. Mac saw her mind working. She was young and she didn't have a lot of experience yet, but he knew she was desperate to prove herself useful to his team. And she had a sharp mind.

"Maybe she didn't do it alone."

Mac's mind flashed back over the facts of the case. A theory began to form in his mind, and his expression darkened as he worked out the details. "Jessamyn Hamilton is watching her son die from terminal cancer, he's in pain. She can't do anything for him, and she knows he's going to die in a lot of pain. So she decides to give him a merciful death. She can't tell her husband her plan, so she goes to Foster to enlist her help. Foster agrees and Jessamyn goes to her husband's office, steals the sodium pentobarbital and forges the signature on the order form while Lee Hamilton is at lunch with his colleague. She gets it to Foster, who administers it."

Aspen didn't speak, and she'd gone a little pale, but she had to admit it sounded pretty logical. Still, Mac was frowning and shaking his head. "There's only one thing I don't like. The dismemberment. Why do that to Jimmy?"

"An obsession?"

"Hm." Mac didn't look convinced, but he pulled out his cell phone. He'd decided to have Detective Angell pick the school nurse up for questioning. Neither Stella or Hawkes had mentioned any reason to be suspicious of Gabriella Foster, or noted anything unstable about her which might lead him to believe she was capable of dismembering a child's body, but there was something rather neat about his theory. He nodded to Aspen as he dialed and she disappeared, probably grateful to escape the grisly details.

He didn't want to be right about this one. More than anything, he did not want to be right. But he had a job to do, and that was to avenge Jimmy Hamilton and make sure that justice was served on his behalf. He sat heavily in his chair and lifted the phone to his ear, wondering what it would take to drive an empathetic school nurse to murder.

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**A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:** I had fully intended on including Danny and Lindsay in this chapter. However, in the interest of keeping this story as current as possible with the show, I decided to wait for another chapter to deal with the fallout between them. I promise they will not be absent from chapter six. Thank you and I hope to hear your thoughts on chapter five!


	6. Chapter 6

_**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **_Mr. Stephen King has a name for the people who repeatedly come back to his work. He calls them his "Constant Readers." Well, I wouldn't be surprised if a few people didn't find their way back to this story after all this time, but I hope there are still a couple of you Constant Readers left. In defense of my protracted absence, I'd like you all to know that I am now a member of the United States Navy, and my time isn't so much my own now as it is the government's…however, I'm back and I've a mind to finish this little tale once and for all. So, if you're new to the story or an old friend returning, welcome! We'll just pick up right where we left off then, shall we?

**SPOILERS: **through season 4.

**THANK YOUS:**My first and foremost thank you goes to any and all of you that are returning to this story. Sorry it's taken so long to get it rolling again! Also, to **shadoo, Kris, SallyJetson, lilymoonlight, ImaSupernaturalCSI, BlueShadowdancer, iluvcsi4ever, legolasfreak2, Prinzessin, scc1fan,** and **crazygundamgirl**…thank you for your thoughtful insights to chapter five and your support. I haven't forgotten that most of you have been following since the first chapter, and I hope I've successfully recaptured the mood of the story here in chapter six. Please let me know your thoughts!

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_Chapter.Six_

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Sheldon didn't have occasion to venture into the bullpen of the precinct very often, although it was always a fascinating trip. His eyes skimmed over the busy floor, taking in the uniformed cops mingling in small groups, arguing over last week's touchdown pass. The plain-clothes detectives either busy at work behind their desks or else catching awkward naps in their chairs. The perps, of every shape, color and creed, most still struggling but some resigned to their fate. He shook his head. It was such a scene of protracted chaos that he wondered how anyone got _any_ work done -- he'd always been a fan of a quiet, focused workspace. He squared his shoulders and started to weave his way through the crush of civil servants and sickos, keeping his eyes peeled for Flack's familiar form.

He spotted a different face instead. His step faltered for a moment, and then he made himself move closer, almost not daring to believe his eyes. Gabriella Foster. His nurse. Then he shook himself. _The_ nurse.

"Dr. Hawkes," she said, catching sight of him before he was quite prepared for her to do so. Well, there was no help for it. He took a breath.

"Ms. Foster," he replied. She was seated at Flack's desk, her brown eyes large and wary although she appeared otherwise composed. Good bedside manner -- it was the kind of thing the doctor in him never failed to recognize.

"Detective Flack picked me up this morning for questioning." She wrinkled a brow, and Sheldon was reminded of his uncomfortable attraction to her. She'd entered the realm of prime suspect, and that made attachment impossible. Just another example, he thought wryly, of his excellent luck in love.

"We uncovered a new lead, and we need to clarify a couple of things," he said, trying his best to sound comforting. But she saw through him -- he was a terrible liar -- and her expression darkened with worry.

"Am I a suspect?" she asked.

Right for the kill then. Sheldon nodded. "Yes, Gabriella."

"What lead did you uncover?"

"I'm not really at liberty to say," he said, and it pained him. Normally dealing with suspects was cut and dry, and he wondered at his professionalism if she could disarm him with no more than a look. He'd already said more than he should, and if Flack caught him here, chit-chatting to one of their prime suspects -- worse, trying to set her at ease and offer her some comfort -- he'd be in deep trouble with Mac.

But if he was expecting Gabriella Foster to throw a fit at his lack of cooperation, he was surprised. She only nodded and looked away, and her shoulders stiffened as if she was preparing to accept her fate. And it struck him with a breathtaking intensity that he didn't want her to be guilty. He really, really didn't want her to be guilty.

Which did not change the fact that he had a job to do. But suddenly wary of a face to face meeting with the far-too-canny Flack, Sheldon simply jotted down a "call me" note on a sticky note and stuck it to the detective's computer screen. It wasn't anything that couldn't wait until he'd sorted himself out a little, and he found himself beating a hasty retreat back to the door of the precinct. Gabriella watched him go and he had the powerful impression that he was leaving her in the middle of a feeding frenzy, but there was little he could do for her now. If she was involved, it was his job to make sure she'd pay for it. And it was one of those extremely rare occasions where Sheldon found himself regretting his move out of the morgue, where things were black and white and attraction simply wasn't possible.

* * *

Lindsay had spent a good part of the last hour and a half sitting in the hallway outside of Danny's apartment, working up the nerve to knock on the door. She found this to be an interesting development; the girl from a ranch in Montana simply would have marched right up and pounded until he was forced to face the music. But this girl -- this woman -- hesitated, weighing the pros and cons, trying to protect herself from the bum-rush approach.

Her cell phone buzzed. Again. It was probably work. She should probably answer it. But it buzzed on while she watched it, as if she was without the energy to reach over and silence it.

The apartment behind her was quiet, and she wasn't even sure Danny was there. If he _was_, he was probably asleep, and she didn't feel right waking him up. Or else she was just making excuses to put off their showdown. It was more likely the latter, and she smiled at herself in a quiet, tired way. She really wasn't that girl from Montana anymore. She wasn't sure when the change had taken place. She wasn't even sure if she liked the idea that she'd changed. But she supposed there was little that could be done for it now. She leaned her back against his door and tried to force herself into action.

She was saved from this struggle, however, by the door opening, and with her support suddenly gone, Lindsay found herself tumbled backwards into Danny's entryway. She had enough presence of mind to catch the look of surprise on his face before the embarrassment settled in, and she scrambled to her feet as her elbows throbbed their protest at the rough treatment.

"Lindsay," he said, and she noticed a couple of things all at once; he'd just come out of a shower, he wasn't wearing his glasses, and he he'd slung an overnight bag over his shoulder. She let out a breath and tried to come up with a terribly witty response.

"Danny," was about the best she could do on such short notice.

"Are…are you okay?" he asked, although his tone was doubtful -- it wasn't the question he wanted to ask her, obviously.

"Yeah." She glanced at her elbows, and since there was no blood she figured she'd live. "Yes, fine."

He quietly shut the door to his apartment and moved further into the hall, his eyes on her and confused. Defensive? Or was she projecting? When the hell had she become so unsure of herself? Probably right about when she'd fallen in love with him and he'd shoved her hard away -- leaving her to wonder which Danny was the _real_ Danny; the one that had flown to Montana to hold her up, or the one that had shut everyone out in the wake of Rueben's death.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and again she sensed his caution. She tried not to bristle, although it took more effort than she expected. Just what, exactly, did he _think_ she was doing here? But with a deep breath and a moment's pause, she was able to keep the venom out of her tone.

"We need to talk."

"Oh." Danny's hand ran through his hair and he avoided her gaze. "Yeah, right. I know. Later?"

_Later?_ Lindsay frowned. "Danny…"

"Look, I know that's shitty, but I really…I've gotta go right now. I'm sorry." He caught her shoulders and bent his knees so he could look her in the eyes. "I promise we'll get this put behind us. Just…gimme today?"

Her resolve weakened. It had taken all her courage just to show up here in the first place. With a sigh she felt down to her toes, she nodded slowly.

"Alright," she conceded. He looked at her for one more long, breathless moment, and then he nodded back, released her shoulders, and disappeared down the hall. She watched him go, taking her heart with her as always, and dropped her gaze. She was beginning to think that this was a lost cause -- no, scratch that, she'd _already_ thought this was a lost cause -- and she simply didn't know how to cut her loses. Disappointment at her heels, she began the journey back to the lab. If she couldn't help herself, she could at least help Jimmy Hamilton's ghost.

* * *

Sullivan's pub was quiet. Adam sat on a stool, his elbows propped on the bar, a tumbler of whiskey in front of him. He hadn't touched it yet -- it wasn't his normal drink of choice, although he had a feeling he could use its burn. He stared at the amber liquid, his mind a million miles away. Or, to be more honest, about two decades in the past and about three thousand miles away, give or take a few hundred. The bartender had left him to his silence, and wisely so. The tech didn't much feel like talking. His mind's eye kept flashing over the crime scene photos. And those weren't the only disturbing images that were plaguing him.

He lifted the tumbler to his lips, hesitated for a moment. Then he tossed the liquor back and grimaced as it seared down his throat, fiery vengeance he wasn't sure he deserved. He waved for another and it appeared, but before he could drink it, a hand closed over his hunched shoulder.

He turned, surprised to be interrupted. And there she was, absurdly beautiful even in the pub's dim lighting. He wondered why he hadn't paid attention before, wondered if it was the whiskey doing a little thinking for him.

"Hey Aspen," he said. He turned back to his tumbler, trying to shake off the afterimage of her. She settled onto the stool next to his and accepted a rum and Coke, and he tried as hard as he could to pretend she wasn't there. He wasn't really in the mood to shoot shit with his coworkers.

"Stella said you might be here," she said, and despite his resolution to ignore her, Adam shot her a glance in surprise.

"You came looking for me?" he asked, having to discard his initial assumption that this was an unfortunate coincidence.

"Yes." She took a sip of her drink and those depthless eyes drank him in at the same time. He squirmed under the scrutiny.

"_Why?_" he managed, wincing a bit at the whiney tone his voice took on.

"Because something's wrong, and we don't know each other very well, which means you don't have much to lose by telling me," she said, and in the face of her perfectly cool reasoning, he felt like a petulant child. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and then looked back down at the whiskey. He swirled it in the tumbler just to do something with his fingers, wishing he hadn't left his sharpie at the lab. He would have liked something to distract his mouth. She didn't say anything for a while, content to sip her drink, but after a few minutes her eyes turned back to him.

"So. Guess it's time for me to be the bad guy." She wrinkled her nose and Adam realized that it was his time of reckoning, whether he liked it or not. "Let's have it."

"You really don't wanna know," he mumbled, finally tossing back the second round. It was replaced, although he didn't recall asking for another.

"I think I've got the basics."

He shot her another look, wary with suspicion, and Aspen didn't flinch.

"Stella said your father was abusive," she said simply, holding his gaze. Adam _did_ flinch, turning away with his face still twisted at the unexpected betrayal of his confidence. And by Stella, of all people.

"He was."

"Don't be mad at her, Adam. I forced it out of her. Now finish the story," she said. "There's more to it, isn't there?"

He considered leaving. He considered ignoring her. He considered both throwing this third glass of whiskey at the next thing that moved and storming out without answering. But his shoulders sagged. Why not have it out? Maybe if she realized what he was, what he'd come from, she'd leave him in peace with his textbooks and computers.

"My father…" He cleared his throat and he wouldn't look at her, and so he missed the look of pain that flittered across Aspen's face. He'd probably never know how much it cost her to be the one to ask, but it was too late now. "My father used to abuse me. Rape me, I guess. Sexual abuse, you know, whatever you wanna call it. I was eight when he started."

He was far away again, His fingers toyed with the tumbler, his bracelets clicking together as he did, and for a moment that was the only sound in the pub. Then he continued, sounding almost drowsy as he put words to the memories.

"At first I didn't know…well, I mean, I guess I knew it was wrong, but it was my _dad_, ya know, and when you're eight you just don't think your dad is capable of doing something wrong. So I didn't say anything. I just…I just let it happen. And it wasn't just the…He used to hit me, too, although in hindsight I think that was easier. I mean, easier to deal with. He hit me more often than he…well, anyway, he didn't always come to my room at night, but it was most nights."

Aspen noticed that he was rocking slightly. She touched his arm. He didn't react -- he was too far gone.

"Anyway, somehow my older brother found out. Billy…I suppose dad must have been doing the same thing to him as he was to me, or at least had done it at one point and Bill…when he found out dad was doing it to me, he just…he just snapped. One night dad came to my room -- I was nine then -- and Billy followed him. He had dad's gun. I remember wondering how he got it because dad kept it locked up in the storage closet under the stairs, but anyway, somehow Billy had it. He was seventeen that year, mom and dad's first accident, he liked to say."

Finally Adam turned toward her, and there was something terrible in his eyes. For a minute, Aspen was able to picture with frightening clarity a nine-year-old Adam, curled in bed, staring at his brother. His brother, who was pointing a gun at their father, determined to make old paternal wrongs right again. She drew her hand back from his arm, but there was no drawing back from that blue gaze of his, and she stared right back at him, shaken.

"Billy told dad he wasn't going to let dad get away with it. Dad made a lunge for the gun. He didn't make it. Billy pulled the trigger. Shot dad dead center in the chest, cut off his wind pipe. He died in my bedroom while my mom called the cops. They took Billy. They made me testify in court. _Against_ him." Adam turned away at last, this time sipping the whiskey. "Billy said he'd do it again, that he didn't regret taking a life at all. He was old enough to be tried as an adult, and the State of Arizona locked him up, twenty-five to life, ridiculous hopes for parole. And now you know the whole story." When Adam looked at her again, his blue eyes were cutting. Accusatory.

"Adam," she managed, but her lips were numb and she'd long ago forgotten that she was gripping her own drink. She remembered now only because her hand was starting to hurt. She looked down and realized her knuckles were white, and it took an effort to loosen her grip. "I'm--"

"Sorry?" Adam shrugged. "Me too."

It sounded cheap when he put it like that. She closed her mouth since she had nothing useful to do with it. Adam watched her for a moment, then shoved his half-empty tumbler away from him. He gained his feet without faltering, and was proud of himself for doing so.

"Anyway, Jimmy reminds me a little bit of me and a little bit of William, I guess, and that's why it's getting to me if it really _is_ getting to me. If I can put away his killer, I'm going to." He left cash on the bar and gave her one last, long look. Aspen felt the cold horror recede, replaced by sympathy, and she was surprised to admit, pride. He'd rebounded from all that, and with no small success, either. What it cost him to be where he was, to have accomplished what he had…well, she imagined the price had been steep, and admiration was born in her chest, although she was sure he wouldn't want it.

"Goodnight, Aspen," he said, and turned away before she could respond. She watched him go, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Yeah," she said as the door swung closed after him, leaving a sense of loss in his wake. "See you at work, then."

* * *

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Flack commented as he scooted around Stella, offering a grin. She smiled back at him, not entirely immune to his charms, and then settled to business.

"Did you get anything from Gabriella Foster?" she asked. Flack's smile faded and he shook his head. He looked like he'd come right from the showers, and it was clear he didn't have much in his system but the slime that passed as coffee in his precinct.

"Nah. She owned up to collecting the dolls, but she zipped lip after that." He shrugged. "Personally, I think if anyone has the _cajones _to do the job, it's her. Sure, the good Doc Hamilton might have operated on dogs, but this was his kid."

"Mmm…" Stella's mind drifted back to the Hamilton's apartment, to the disconcerting lack of mementoes linked to Jimmy at all. "Something's bothering me about all this, Flack."

"You and me both." He was sniffing around her desk now, distracting her from her train of thought. She watched him, arms crossed over her chest, and shook her head.

"What are you doing?" she asked. He glanced up at her, blue eyes all innocence, and flashed a grin that was a little sheepish.

"Looking for food?" he ventured, but cautiously, as if expecting retaliation. For a moment, Stella could only stare at him. Then she laughed. Of course he was. She opened the top drawer of the desk and handed him what was left of her Greek salad. Flack always did his best thinking with a little food in his belly, and though he professed to be full Irish, she was beginning to wonder whether or not there might be a little Greek to him, too.

"There weren't any pictures of Jimmy in that apartment. None." Stella leaned against the desk, her eyes faraway as she tried to follow the evidence to a logical explanation. "But the dismemberment wasn't to get rid of the body. So why erase the memory?"

Flack chewed as his mind worked over the problem. "That goes back to the dismemberment being someone outside the family, to someone who isn't trying to erase him. Like Gabriella Foster."

"But she said herself she didn't have a lot of contact with him." She looked at him, and her eyes were painfully green, and Flack held her gaze, momentarily paralyzed by her. "We're missing something."

He shook his head slowly. "We're missing more than that," he told her. "But we're closing in, My gut says so."

Stella hardly heard him. _Taken apart to be put back together. Like a doll. With the pancreas removed. The pancreas. Where the cancer was._ It was so close, whatever revelation was waiting for her. She could feel it, could almost put her finger on it. _They removed the cancerous part. Removed…the…_

Her eyes popped. "They removed the cancer."

Flack glanced at her, brow furrowed in confusion. "Stell…?"

"That's it. That's it!" She grabbed for her phone and jacket. "Flack, they _removed the cancer._"

"Yeah…" He made a grab for her as she rushed for the door. "Stella, you're not making any sense."

"Whoever took him apart, they meant to put him back together. Without the cancer. Flack, they were trying to make him _perfect_ again," she said, breathless. "They took him apart like a broken doll to _fix_ him."

Flack shivered a little, struggling to catch up to her thought process. "And that means…?"

"I kept wondering why Jessamyn Hamilton would remove the pictures…it's because it didn't work. She was interrupted before she could finish fixing Jimmy, so she tried to _get rid of him._"

The detective took a step back from her, recoiling physically from the very idea. "Jesus."

"I've got to tell Mac. Is Gabriella Foster still in custody?" Stella was a blur as she scooped up her keys and pulled on her jacket.

"Ye…yeah," he managed.

"Good. Get her into an interrogation room. And find me some hard evidence. We're gonna need it in court." She was gone before he could respond.


End file.
